


north pole

by bail



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Elves, Holiday Fic Exchange Story, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bail/pseuds/bail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, it needs to be said that he doesn’t have anything against Santa. In fact, Santa is a pretty great guy – always smiling and laughing and he kind of reminds Dave a bit of his grandfather, who is unfortunately long gone, but whom he remembers dearly. No, what Dave doesn’t like is his work. He wishes that he could be one of the re-con elves, because a re-con elf gets to live amongst humans and gets to experience all the cool stuff. Elf AU fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	north pole

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** David Cook, David Archuleta and et al. belong to themselves. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **A/N:** The story can also be read at my [fic journal](http://bail.livejournal.com/5189.html) over at livejournal. This fic was written for the [Holiday Fic Exchange](http://community.livejournal.com/cookleta_etc/450207.html) @ [Cookleta_ETC](http://community.livejournal.com/cookleta_etc/).

'December again,' thinks Dave, and pushes the wooden door open to the _Christmas Lounge_ , jumping up and down a few times on the welcome-mat to get rid of the snow that clings to his boots. He unravels his scarf from his neck, the long and soft blue-colored knitted scarf falling towards the floor for a split second before he manages to catch it. He wraps it into a bundle, and enters the room, scarf in hand.

“Hi Dave,” says Brooke, a fellow elf, when she sees him, and he nods and smiles in return, walking determinedly passed her and her cup of hot chocolate, heading to his usual table in the corner. Ever since he can remember, this has been his, Andy and Neal’s table, and just because Andy and Neal are on some super secret assignment does not mean that he will sit somewhere else (even if it means that he will be sitting alone).

“Elf beer,” he orders when Carly, the bar maiden of the _Christmas Lounge_ , asks for his order. He finds it kind of stupid that she asks him every time, because they only serve three kinds of beer here, and Dave always choose the Elf beer, which Carly knows.

“It’s December first, today. Does that mean it’s time for another round of brooding then, Davie?” teases Carly when she returns to him, putting down the goblet of beer in front of him. David looks up from the table and scowls at Carly, who in response just sings a line of the Christmas carol that’s currently playing over the speakers, as she leaves the table.

The thing about the _Christmas Lounge_ that Dave loathes the most, is the constant playing of various Christmas songs in all languages. He used to love this kind of songs; used to sing along to every single one of them without missing a beat, even the ones in Danish and Russian that most elves find it hard to pronounce the words to. Now though, he kind of wishes someone would put on something entirely different. Neal, his brother elf, once told him about human music – music that, like the Christmas songs, come in all kinds of languages, but apparently also genres and is allegedly iniquitously _and_ awesome.

“Whatever,” he says to no one, before picking up his goblet of beer, swallowing more than half of it in one go. He remains in his seat until closing hour, four beers devoured by the time he stumbles out of the pub. His small apartment is not that far away, but while walking drunk in the snow, it seems to take him forever to reach his door.

  


_Santa’s Workshop_ is this big red house in the middle of town, the roof constantly covered in a layer of fine white snow. The grand doors open out to the town square, where a large statue of Santa is standing in the middle, which makes it impossible for anyone to not notice or even ignore it. Dave tries his best though, every morning walking with his head bowed and hands buried deep in his pockets as he walks past that statue and heads for the grand doors.

Now, it needs to be said that he doesn’t have anything against Santa. In fact, Santa is a pretty great guy – always smiling and laughing and he kind of reminds Dave a bit of his grandfather, who is unfortunately long gone, but whom he remembers dearly. No, what Dave doesn’t like is his work. He wishes that he could be one of the re-con elves, because a re-con elf gets to live amongst humans and gets to experience all the cool stuff. Like music, and other kinds of beer, and the most important of all; falling in love. And Dave wants that; he wants to listen to something other than Christmas music, and he wants to drink other drinks than elf beer and he wants to experience love. Like true love; love that makes your heart and soul ache and your toes curl. He’s only heard of this kind of love though, so he’s not even sure such a thing as true love exists; but he hopes so, he really, really hopes so.

He gets out of the elevator on the fifth floor – the glitter sign above the door says in big and bold letters ‘music department’ – and heads towards his workbench. Dave’s workbench might just be the only bench that is _not_ covered in Christmas garlands or ornaments in the entire workshop. He likes his area to be clean, because that makes it easier for him to find the tools he needs when working. Not that he uses a lot of tools – in fact, he mostly just uses his magic to create the toys that he’s been put in charge of making – but the cleanliness of the place is the excuse he gives when the other elves question his lack of festivities scattered about.

The music department consists of maybe ten or so elves, give or take a few who comes and goes between the different departments depending on how much work there is. They all basically work on the same instruments, but they have different tasks. Dave is the fourth in line of getting the instrument in his hands. His main task is to use his magic to get the toy to work and test if the instruments are in tune.

“Hey there, Dave,” says a chipper voice. He looks at Brooke, his eyes darting to her workbench and almost cringes at the amount of stuff that has been draped all over the bench. Brooke is the one who has to decorate the instruments, so her entire workspace is filled with paint samples and patterns and flowers. And then there’s all the Christmas decoration. Brooke is one of those elves who loves Christmas and who can sing Christmas songs all year round. And if she wasn’t so damn sweet and loveable, Dave would probably hate her.

“Hey Brooke,” he says, and smiles. He likes the curly haired blonde elf, admires her talent at staying positive and cheerful. Because it is a talent. Dave kind of wishes he was more like that himself; wishes that living here on the North Pole was enough for him; wishes that he could just _stop_ wishing for more.

“Want a cup of hot chocolate?” asks Brooke, twirling her hand, conjuring up two cups of warm chocolate on the table. Dave doesn’t really like hot chocolate – in fact, he kind of hates how it always burns his palate, and he has to admit that he’s grown a bit tired of the taste as well – but he still accepts the cup. Mostly because it makes Brooke happy, and as much as he’s tired of Christmas and his job, he doesn’t want to disappoint Brooke. So he takes the cup, drinks the chocolate, and tries not to make a face when he once again burns his palate.

  


December is the only month that elves work. They use a great deal of their magic in this month, so the remaining eleven months are spent relaxing and recharging and mostly just sleeping. Time moves differently on the North Pole in December. Time goes slower, and what is in actuality twenty-four hours everywhere else is during December forty-eight hours on the North Pole. Dave doesn’t understand why Santa won’t just change the work months to November _and_ December, instead of messing with time, but he keeps this to himself. The other elves already think he’s a bit weird.

“– are you even listening?” asks Johns, leaning against Dave’s desk, hand reaching out to tousle his hair. Dave moves away from the hand, looking confused at Johns. He hadn’t even seen the other elf enter the music department. Maybe he should have had less to drink the day before and more sleep. He’s aware that when you work like forty hours in a row without taking a break, only getting three hours of sleep isn’t good. But drinking is his way of relaxing, and yeah.

“No,” he finally says. No point in pretending that he was listening to the other elf, when it is quite evident to everyone in the room that he so wasn’t.

“Well, are you going to listen now if I, out of the goodness of my heart, repeat what I said before?” says Johns, smirking, eyes glinting with amusement.

Dave is tempted to make a rude gesture with his finger, but he can see that Brooke is watching them closely, so instead he settles for a tiny nod. Whoever put Johns in charge of this department probably did it to piss him off, he thinks, and glares as Johns. Truth be told, Johns is one of his best friends, and they oftentimes go out drinking together. But still, he already hates his job, and it doesn’t help when Johns tries to tell him what to do. Johns, though, just finds it all immensely amusing, and Dave has to grit his teeth when Johns smiles and pretends that he doesn’t know how much he’s annoying Dave right now.

“Like I said before,” says the other elf, talking slowly, grinning like a fool. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll be in charge of taking care of the new elf in the music department. Make sure he feels welcome and all that jazz.”

Dave’s jaw drops, and he stares helplessly at Brooke who just giggles behind her hand.

“Why me?” he whines, ignoring Johns when the other elf raises an amused eyebrow at his whining.

“Because you’re the best, Dave,” says Johns, sounding almost genuine as he pokes Dave in the chest with his index finger. “And this kid is supposedly really talented and the man upstairs wants him to be trained by the best, and as much as I know you hate it, you’re actually the best. No one can tune an instrument like you can.”

Dave can feel his cheeks redden a bit, unsure how to handle the praise. Except… he glares at Johns, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to figure out what Johns is trying to pull.

“You totally had me for a second,” he finally mutters.

“Come on Dave. I wouldn’t lie to you. You really are the best. Unfortunately for you, Cowell requested I put the kid with the best. So no chance of getting out of it, I’m afraid.”

Dave should have known that Cowell was behind this. Cowell is Santa’s right hand and the one who organizes basically everything that has to do with the _Workshop_. Dave knows that he can’t get out of it.

“When you say kid, how old are talking then?” he asks, knowing he’ll probably dread the answer.

Johns grins, an even row of perfect white teeth glinting in the light, “Oh. I think he’s five hundred or so.”

Dave’s eyes widen, startled. “You want me to babysit some kid,” he says, accusingly, but Johns is already out of the door. He looks at Brooke, not entirely sure what to say or do. Brooke just smiles and shrugs in return. He sighs. Not only are Andy and Neal gone on some kind of mission, but now the management – Cowell and maybe even Santa himself – wants Dave to babysit some kid.

“Great,” he mutters, and picks up the first instrument of the day, twirling his hand over the assembled piece and then tests it, making sure that it can play and that it’s in tune. It is, like always, because Dave is fucking awesome at his job. Unfortunately, he thinks, and picks up the next one.

  


When Dave enters the music department the next day, a young elf is perched on his desk, legs swinging back and forth in a leisurely pace. Dave scowls and unravels his scarf from around his neck. His hands are cold, and he’s fairly sure his nose is a tiny bit red – from the cold, not from the excessive amount of beer he drank last night. Brooke greets him in her usual manner, and before Dave has even made his way over to his workbench, a cup of hot chocolate appears in his hand. He burns his tongue when he takes the first sip, and he curses maybe a bit too loudly than what is necessary, but it had fucking hurt and he’s tired and also maybe just a tiny bit still hung-over.

“Um, hi,” says the young dark-haired elf, jumping down from Dave’s desk and making room for Dave when he nears the table – his table, thank you very much. “Are you David Cook?” he asks, but before Dave gets a chance to say anything, let alone breathe, the young elf continues talking, “I’m David, too, just Archuleta, isn’t that kind of funny, um, you know, both of us named David and now we are working together and um gosh, I’m kind of nervous because I’ve never ever before worked with instruments and I have no idea why Mr. Cowell wanted me assigned to this departme–”

Dave holds up his hand, effectively cutting the young elf – _David_ – off from his continuous jabber. He rubs the bridge of his nose, tired and so not in the mood for talking.

“I’ll be calling you Archie,” he announces, and finally looks at the young elf properly. He feels something clench and spasm in his chest, and he momentarily forgets how to breathe. Oh, fucking great. Not only does he have to teach and mentor some kid who’s completely clueless, but the kid just had to be pretty too. By now, Dave is ninety percent sure that Cowell hates him. Archie smiles shyly. No, make that ninety-two point five percent.

He sees Brooke looking disappointed at him, and he sighs and tells himself that it’s not Archie’s fault that Cowell did this. And as much as he hates this place and his job, he probably ought to be nicer to the other elf. Maybe it’s some kind of test? He has heard that Cowell has done weird tests before, checking the elves commitment to their job and such. He looks at the kid, and yeah. That has to be it.

  


Archie turns out to be a natural. Dave only has to show him how things are done once or twice, before the younger elf can do it without Dave watching. Except, he does watch. He can’t help himself. Archie is so pretty, and although Dave knows it’s wrong to find the other elf pretty – because hello, it’s a male elf and a kid (except not really, because Archie is apparently of age despite the fact that he looks like he’s only four hundred and fifty years, give or take a couple of decades) – he can’t help but look and want. Oh how he fucking _wants_.

Brooke clears her throat and Dave looks away from Archie, one eyebrow raised as he waits for her to say something. She doesn’t say anything though, just smiles, and Dave is fairly sure he can see a faint smirk hidden underneath that smile. It unnerves him, and he can’t help but blush a bit. He is therefore grateful when Johns sticks his head in and yells that he’s going to the _Christmas Lounge_ in five, and that Dave should stop being such a sourpuss and come join him when he gets off from work.

Dave smiles dryly, and nods, because honestly, he could use a drink or five. It’s only the tenth of December, and he’s already looking forward to December twenty-sixth, which is not only the day after Christmas, but also the day when he’ll be celebrating his birthday. His actual birthday is the twentieth, but like every year, he’ll be too busy with work to celebrate it. Not that there is much to celebrate, regardless of when it’s being held. The novelty sort of went off of it two hundred years ago, or something like that. Most elves tend to not care after their five hundred birthday as that is when they will be acknowledged as adult elves.

“Um,” says Archie, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Dave stares, and he wonders briefly if the blush goes all the way down the chest, before snapping out of it. He clears his throat, just to have something to do.

“Um,” says Archie again, and Dave tries his best to focus.

“Yes?” he asks, one eyebrow going slightly up, as he looks at Archie; looks into those hazel-colored eyes. Huh.

“This instrument,” says Archie, holding out one of the toy guitars. Dave looks at it, recognizes it as one of the ones he had been working on earlier – because Dave remembers every single piece of instrument he has made, no matter how hard he tries not to – and narrows his eyes into tiny slits as he waits for Archie to continue. “Um,” says Archie, for the third time in a span of fifty-seconds, and Dave kind of thinks that ought to be some kind of record. “It’s out of tune,” continues the younger elf, looking a bit afraid, eyes big and wide and so fucking innocent.

Dave snatches the instrument out of Archie’s hands, glares for a couple of long second at the dark-haired elf before directing his attention to said instrument. Which is definitely out of tune. He winces as he tries to play it, the sound too loud and too _wrong_. He can’t believe that he had somehow managed to fuck this up. He’s never done this before; never had an instrument in his hands and then forgotten to tune it. He fixes it quickly, ignoring the way that Brooke seems to be smiling to herself over at her desk. Just great. With his luck, Cowell will probably have heard about this by the end of the day. Or Johns. Dave can’t decide which is worse, because frankly, though Cowell will yell and tell him all about the regulations and things that Dave doesn’t give a fuck about anymore, Johns will rub it in his face for the next hundred years at least.

“So,” says Archie suddenly, and Dave looks up, only to see that the office has emptied out and the lights are slow ebbing out. He has no idea how long he’s just been sitting there, instrument still in his hand, now perfectly tuned like it should have been the first time around. “Do you want to come home with me for dinner?” asks Archie, cheeks turning red from what Dave guesses is embarrassment. “I mean, my mom really wanted to meet you, because um, I told her about you and this place, and her rice pudding is probably the best in the entire North Pole.”

Dave is tempted to say yes, mostly because he’s kind of curious about Archie and Archie’s family (who apparently works with the reindeers over in stable five), but he still finds himself declining as politely as his mom ever taught him. He sees the few other elves who are still around rise surprised eyebrows at his polite answer, but decides to ignore them. Just because he’s tired of his job and his surroundings, does not mean that he has to be an ass to Archie. After all, Archie has been nothing but nice – maybe too nice; too sweet and adorable… Dave swallows and pretends not to notice when Archie’s smile fades a bit.

“Oh,” says Archie, sounding almost devastated. Dave looks away.

Later, at the _Christmas Lounge_ , Dave washes away the bitterness in his mouth by drowning four elf beers within the span of an hour. Johns, who has decided to keep him company (though Dave is fairly sure that the reason why Johns are sitting with him is because he needs an excuse to stare at Carly without being too obvious about it), looks at him funny when Dave puts down the fourth goblet while fighting the urge to belch loudly.

“Mate, you’ve got it bad,” says Johns, smirking. Dave can’t see what’s so amusing that Johns needs to smirk, but he humors his friend by pretending that he has no fucking clue what Johns is trying to say.

“What?” he finally asks, when Johns continues to stare at him with that knowing smile gracing the lips. It bothers Dave, and if he weren’t so plastered, he would probably smack the smirk away. But he is drunk, pathetically so, and he fully knows that getting up from the chair is out of the question. Unfortunately, Johns seems to realize this the same time Dave does, and the other elf gestures Carly over with a snap of his fingers.

“What, you loser,” says Carly, grinning as she smacks Johns on the back of his head. Dave grins, silently thanking Carly for doing what he was unable to do himself. Johns frowns for all but two seconds before he wraps his long arm around Carly’s waist and tugs her closer. She ruffles the elf’s hair, grins and then smacks Johns on the back of his head again, before untangling herself from his grip.

“Two elf beers,” says Johns, grinning widely.

Dave waves his hand, dismissing the idea of having another beer. Not that he can’t drink more, because he knows he can – in fact, he usually drinks up to ten elf beers per night, without feeling queasy, but for some reason, the four he's had so far are more than enough. He ignores the tiny voice in his head that whispers that the only reason he’s stopping at four is because he doesn’t want to be hung-over at work the next day. Which is completely ridiculous, because he has never cared before if he has been hung-over while at work. At least, he didn’t care much before Archie started working in the department.

It seems to all to come back to Archie. Dave devours the beer that Carly puts in front of him in one go and quickly orders a new one.

  


It’s December 19th, the day before his birthday. It’s also a Sunday, which means that technically he’s not required to go to work. However, most elves tend to go to work anyway, as it lessens the workload the other days if they work half a day on Sundays. The music department is fairly quiet, and Dave is practically alone for most of the day. He’s humming a song – a Christmas song – and then frowns as he realizes what he’s doing. He hates Christmas songs, but for some reason he can’t stop humming this particular song.

It takes him close to ten minutes before he remembers that Archie had been singing this song for nearly all of Friday until Dave had told him to be quiet. He had regretted it immediately, and tried to apologize to the best of his abilities – by commending Archie for his natural skills and giving the younger elf more responsibility.

“Dave, hi,” says a chipper voice, and Dave turns in his seat to look at Archie who standing in the middle of the room, cheeks red from the cold and a fine layer of snow covering his dark hair.

“Archie,” he says, surprised. He hadn’t expected to see anyone, let alone Archie, until Monday.

“Um, Johns told me you’d probably be here,” says Archie, and Dave can almost swear that the younger elf is blushing. Dave himself, can feel something twist in his stomach; can feel something clench inside his chest. Archie had asked Johns about his whereabouts?

“Yeah,” he utters, feeling a bit lost and confused, and maybe also a bit pleased. Archie has grown on him, and the mere presence of the dark-haired elf is enough to brighten Dave’s day (although he will deny it should anyone ask or point it out).

He watches as Archie sits down in his regular seat on Dave’s left side, and together they start to work on a couple of instruments in silence. They make a couple of hundreds before taking a break, and when Dave looks up, it’s completely dark outside.

He glances at Archie out of the corner of his eye, trying to be stealthy about it. He manages to do so for a couple of minutes, but suddenly he sees Archie’s mouth quirking, a tiny smile appearing ever so slowly. Dave tells himself to look away, knows that he’s been caught staring, but for some reason, he simply cannot look away. He sees Archie’s lips moving, knows that the other elf is talking to him, but all he can hear is the loud thump of his heart beating, the sound echoing in his ears, deafening everything else.

“Okay?” asks Archie, as he gets up from his chair and starts to wrap his scarf around his neck.

Dave shakes his head, trying to focus. “What?” he asks, standing up as well, shifting from one foot to the other as he tries to figure out what the fuck is going on right now.

Archie just smiles that big, wide, innocent smile that makes Dave’s heart skip a beat. Dave can’t help but smile back, loving the way that Archie’s smile seems to lighten up his face. And then they start to automatically lean closer, Dave bending down a bit, as he's taller than Archie.

He frowns, the lines on his forehead crinkling ever so slightly. He is not going there, no matter how much he just wants to take Archie in his arms and kiss him. He’s really not. Except, he watches, his body and mind kind of frozen, as his arms stretches and his fingers curl around the scarf that’s wrapped around Archie’s neck, eagerly pulling the younger elf closer.

“Dave,” whispers Archie shyly, and Dave just looks into those eyes, trying to ignore the way that something seems to coil hotly in the pit of his stomach at the way that Archie says his name.

  


When Dave wakes the next morning, he’s tempted to call in sick. He wants nothing more than to hide under his covers all day, pretending that the world outside doesn’t exists. He can’t believe that he almost kissed Archie. He has never wanted to kiss another elf as much as he wanted to kiss Archie the day before. The fact that it’s a male elf – completely new territory, as he has definitely never felt attracted to another male before – isn’t what bothers him. No, what bothers him right now is that he had reacted impulsively and Archie hadn’t told him no; hadn’t pushed him away or said something. No, Archie had just looked at him with those big eyes, through his long lashes, and Dave had forgotten how to breathe properly. Which is so unlike him. Archie had rendered him to his knees, had made Dave want something with just one look.

He’s still lying in bed when his alarm rings for the third time, jumping angrily on the table, annoying Dave to no end. He tries to reach out without moving too much, but ends up nearly falling off the bed. The alarm keeps on chiming, loudly. He uses his magic to make it move closer to him, and smashes the button down with a satisfied ‘aha’. The ringing starts again. He looks at his alarm, seething, before he realizes that it’s no longer his watch but his phone that’s dancing on the table.

The dancing phone was a gift from Neal and Andy. They had thought it was funny, and at the time, it had been. But dashing around the apartment to get a hold of a phone that keeps on wiggling out of reach in weird dance moves that Dave has never seen before, is just plain annoying. And the fact that the ringtone is a Christmas song definitely doesn’t improve his mood. So it’s with an angry and almost shouting voice that he says, “Hello!”

It’s his mother on the other end. He winces and tries to fit his entire fist into his mouth, literally. After she has told him happy birthday, she spends nearly an hour telling him about proper manners and how to respond to a phone call in the most pleasurable way for the person on the other end.

When he makes it to work – surprisingly enough on time, regardless of the fact that he had _tried_ to be late – Archie isn’t there. Neither is Brooke or the other elves that work in his department. He stands in the doorway, slightly confused and maybe also a bit relieved. It takes him a full minute to even consider that something is wrong. Normally the department is bursting with life and noise, and… well, now it’s not. He enters anyway, decides to get some work done and sits down at his workbench.

He turns in his seat, grabbing the nearest instrument and starts his normal routine; choosing an instrument, magic wave over said instrument, and then tuning and testing it. He's done nearly twenty of these when the door opens, and Johns’ head pokes in, looking confusedly at Dave for a couple of second before pushing against the door so hard that it smacks into the wall, probably leaving a tiny dent in the process.

“Happy birthday mate,” says Johns, and Dave glances at him warily. He doesn’t know what to say, and instead just settles for a nod.

Johns nods as well, and sits down in the Archie’s chair. Dave kind of wants to tell him to get out of the chair; kind of want to tell him that the chair belongs to Archie and that he has no right to sit in it. He says nothing.

“Yes?” asks Dave, when Johns just looks at him, hands folded in his lap.

“Oh, just wondering when you’d realize that everyone’s at the meeting down in the grand auditorium, waiting for you to arrive,” replies Johns, shrugging. Dave straightens in his seat. Meeting? No one fucking told him about a meeting.

“What?” he finally manages to say, glaring angrily at Johns. “Why the fuck did you wait this long to tell me?”

“For fun?” tries Johns, but Dave is too riled up to even respond to that. He quickly gets out of the chair and walks as fast as possible without running – after all, it’s not his fault that no one mentioned the meeting – to the grand auditorium, where, rightly enough, the entire music department is waiting for him… with banners and cake and balloons. ‘Happy seventh hundred and fifty-sixth birthday’ says one of the signs, written with some kind of glitter. It definitely sparkles.

And right there, underneath the sparkling sign, is Archie, holding a wrapped package between his hands.

“It’s, um, for you. From me, I mean, all of us,” says Archie, holding out the gift for Dave to take. He looks at the package, surprised at the size of it and shape.

Archie nods, eagerly watching him as he unwraps the gift. It’s a guitar. Not a toy guitar that he makes every day, but one of those human guitars – adult guitars – and it’s so pretty. Dave can feel the burn in his eyes and quickly looks away so no one can see that he’s getting a bit misty-eyed over the gift. He feels the pressure of a small hand against his back, and then Archie is leaning closer to whisper in his ear, “I’m so glad you like it. Um, maybe you could play for me, um, you know, some day.”

Dave just nods, speechless and oddly pleased. He can’t wait to get home so he can start practicing. He’s fairly sure that Archie wouldn’t really care if he was good at playing or not, but Dave wants to be awesome at it, but more so, he doesn’t want to _fail_ in front of Archie.

“Happy birthday, Dave,” sings Brooke, voice light and sweet. Dave looks at her, eyes momentarily distracted by her shiny, golden hair and bright smile.

“Brooke,” he says, smiling. His fingers run over the surface of the guitar, teasing the strings with a couple of light touches. “Thank you so much for the gift. I love it,” he tells her.

“Oh, you should really thank Archie. It was his suggestion,” she tells him, head tilting to the side as she gazes intently at him. He can feel his cheeks turning red. “You’re good together–”

“What?” he interrupts quickly, eyes shifting quickly to glance at Archie who’s standing in the corner talking with Johns and then back to Brooke again, heart beating fast against his ribs, because honestly, he didn’t think he had been… well, obvious.

“I said that you work well together. He’s quite talented. Who knows, maybe he’ll be as good as you in a couple of hundred years.”

“Oh,” he swallows. Work. She meant work. He sighs, relieved, and then smiles. “Nah, I’m sure it will happen sooner than that. He’s already pretty good, and he’s only been there a month.”

Dave looks at Archie, and smiles when Archie catches his eyes, looking amused by whatever Johns is telling him. Dave is sure that whatever it is, it’s probably a lie or at least an exaggeration. Johns seems to do that a lot.

  


He’s barely been home a couple of minutes when someone’s knocks on his door. He looks around, trying to find somewhere to put down his guitar without scratching it. He finally puts it down on his bed, and opens the door just as the person on the other side is about to knock again.

“Archie,” he exclaims, rather loudly, surprised to see the other elf in the hallway. Archie looks down, shyly, and Dave looks down too, watching Archie’s feet shuffling from right to left over the carpeted floor.

“Everything oka-”

He’s interrupted by a wet clumsy kiss, plush, slick lips pressing against his own dry ones. He just stands there, surprised and speechless. It is not until Archie starts to pull back that he wakes up. His arm sneaks around Archie’s back, quickly stopping Archie from moving further.

“You kissed me,” he says, flabbergasted. Archie looks up at him through his long, dark eyelashes, and Dave can’t help but smile. Archie looks so shy and innocent, and fucking adorable. He pulls the younger elf closer until their chests are touching.

“Um,” says Archie, and looks up, nervously biting into his lower lip, worrying the flesh until it’s all red and wet.

“I liked it. Fuck,” he says, and grins widely, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I first saw you.”

He leans down and presses their lips together, his tongue darting out to eagerly persuade Archie to open up and let him in, which Archie does after a couple of licks. Slender fingers bury in his hair, tugging gently at the brownish strands, and Dave can’t help but press himself even closer to Archie until he can feel their two heartbeats beating as one.

“I was going to practice playing the guitar,” he says, when they stop for air. He kisses Archie again, and this time Archie’s lips part without hesitation. It feels different than any other kiss, it’s all hot and sweet at the same time, and Dave thinks he might just get addictive to Archie’s taste, because fuck it if that’s not the sweetest taste ever – chocolate and mint and a stray of cinnamon – and if he didn’t need air, he could kiss Archie forever.

“I wanted to be able to play a song for your birthday,” he admits – fully knowing how cheesy that sounds – when they stop for air again.

Archie smiles, cheeks all flushed and perfect. Dave’s heart skips a beat, or maybe beats faster. It’s difficult to tell. He just knows that he has never felt like this before, and it’s exhilarating and confusing, all at the same time.

“I should probably get home,” whispers Archie against his lips. Dave nods, though he can’t find it in himself to let go of Archie. Not yet. Not so soon. Archie continues, “But I’ll see you tomorrow at work?”

Dave finally lets go with a sigh, his fingers already itching to grab a hold of Archie again. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Good, um.” Archie kisses him quickly on the cheek. “I’ll see you, um, tomorrow then.”

Dave follows him to the door, where they linger awkwardly for a couple of silent moments, both of them uncertain as to what to say.

“My birthday is on the twenty-eighth of December,” says Archie finally. Dave nods. He already knew this, though he’s not about to admit that. “Gosh, um. I’d love it if you came over. If you want to, um, that is.”

Dave smiles. “I want to. And I’ll be able to play you a song by then, promise.”

He’s tempted to kiss Archie again before the other elf leaves, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just stands there in the doorway, watching as Archie disappears down the hallway and out the front door. Then he goes inside his apartment and lingers at the window until he can no longer see Archie walking away in the snow.

He glances at the guitar on his bed, lets out a hoarse laugh, and crosses the room quickly and picks it up. Not only will he be able to play the guitar on Archie’s birthday, but he’ll be fucking awesome at it, even if it means that he will have to skip his daily visits at the _Christmas Lounge_ in order to rehearse. Archie is so worth it. And for the first time in hundreds of years, he actually can’t wait for morning to come when he has to go to work again. He hums a Christmas tune – Archie’s favorite, he recognizes – and smiles. Maybe this is what true love is like? One thing is for sure; he is going to ask Andy and Neal about it when they get back from their re-con mission. Though in his heart, he kind of already know the answer. Yes.

‘Maybe Christmas is all right after all,’ he thinks, and places the guitar in his lap, slowly letting his fingers run over the strings, softly playing that same song, quietly murmuring the words that goes to the tune.

 _fin._


End file.
